A bead of sweat gathered on her forehead and ran down, stinging the corner of her eye.
It could be a draught meant to inflict agony. It could even be a lethal poison.
Yet unable to shake those suspicions, Talia parted her lips.
He tipped the vial, pouring the bitter liquid into her mouth. When she turned away with a dry, choking cough, his fingers caught her jaw and pressed the glass back against her lips.
Talia looked up into his face, helplessly swallowing as the draught forced its way down her throat.
Torchlight flickered in his pale eyes, dull and shrouded as if behind a veil. Talia searched those cold, empty depths for the faintest scrap of feeling, but her limbs soon slackened.
She widened her eyes, fighting with every shred of will against the dark, yet her thoughts drifted apart and the world blurred into haze.
A few slow blinks, and Talia sank into a silence like death.
How long had passed, she could not tell. It felt like seconds; it felt like a lifetime.
Staring blankly ahead, Talia winced at the steady beat of hooves and the rattle of iron-rimmed wheels. As the fog in her head gradually thinned, the dim interior of a carriage took shape around her.
For a fleeting second, she wondered if it had all been a dream. The monstrous forms emerging from the dark, Varkas rushing away to shield Ayla while leaving her behind, the terror of being seized in a wyvern’s talons—perhaps it was nothing more than a nightmare from the night before.
As if to tear that hope away, a searing pain tore up from her knees to her waist.
Talia bit hard into her lip, clutching at knees that burned like hot iron.
Beneath the thin chemise, her fingertips brushed coarse weave. Her eyes widened as her hands traced the shape: her entire left leg had been bound tight in thick bandages.
Gathering her hem, she saw linen dark with blood and fluid clinging against her thigh and flank.
Her trembling hands dropped away, and she let the skirt fall before struggling to sit up.
The spacious carriage had been lined with thick, quilted wool, strewn with an untidy heap of cushions and light blankets.
She took it in with a dazed stare, then reached for the strap fastened to the wall and hauled herself upward. Her legs refused her weight; standing was impossible.
Talia tried to force some strength into limbs as heavy as lead, but an agonizing throb shot up her spine and dropped her back to the bench with a dull thud. A ragged scream tore from her throat as the shockwave coursed through her whole body.
“Your Highness, are you all right?!”
At her cry, the carriage ground to a halt, and the door was thrown wide.
Talia squinted through the sudden glare at the man framed in the opening. An Imperial Knight, his unruly hair more disheveled than usual, peered down at her with open worry.
Stepping inside, he turned to rummage through a wooden chest tucked in the corner.
“The pain must be terrible. The healer left an analgesic for you. Drink this, and—”
“Why… why did no one cast healing magic on me?”
The knight flinched, turning toward her under the sharp accusation.
Talia pulled the blanket tight across her chest, her eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“Did my brother tell you not to treat me?”
“N-no, nothing like that, Your Highness!”
The man waved both hands in flustered protest.
“The healer reset the fractures and sealed what he could as an emergency measure… but the injuries were too severe to mend in the field. He warned that forcing a full knit now would ruin your recovery, and that it would be far safer left to the imperial physicians at court…”
Talia held his hesitant gaze with cold distrust before looking down at her mangled leg.
Dim memories surfaced—the massive boulder crushing her knee, the weight pinning her thigh. Had the flesh been sealed over splintered bone, she might well have lost the limb for good. Acknowledging the bitter sense of it did nothing to soften her temper.
“So I am to rot like this until we reach the capital?”
“I know it is excruciating, but please endure it just a while longer. We are taking the fastest route straight through to Gillian.”
Talia studied his face for another breath, then turned her eyes out the carriage window.
Under the pale afternoon light, a long column of knights stretched across the open plains. Without thinking, her gaze began combing the ranks for ash-blond hair; catching herself, she flinched and yanked the curtain shut. Even that small exertion left her drained to the bone.
“I am surprised my brother consented to turn back to the palace at all.”
“Too many men fell in the wyvern attack. Even the Crown Prince could hardly refuse a swift return when told it was needed to bury them.”
Talia looked back at him, caught off guard by the cynical edge in his voice. Catching his own slip, the knight flushed slightly and hurried to change the subject.
“More importantly, you are far too pale. Please, take the draught first.”
He extended the small cup toward her. Talia stared at it for a moment, then waved it away with a flick of her hand.
“I don’t want it. Take it away. I need to rest.”
“…If you do not trust me, I can bring Lord Shearkan.”
Lying back among the cushions, Talia felt her expression harden into stone.
Her chest hollowed out for an instant, as if a hand had struck her unawares. Forcing a razor-sharp sneer to her lips, she looked through him.
“Do I look like a woman who trusts that man?”
“Your Highness, to the Commander, you are—”
“I trust no one.”
Talia cut him off with a vicious snap. Then, fixing his infuriatingly earnest face with a venomous glare, she spat each syllable:
“Least of all him.”
· · ·
“So hold your tongue and get out.”
His mouth opened as though to press further, but he swallowed the words, gave a quiet sigh, and withdrew.
After a brief pause, the carriage lurched into motion once more.
Talia pulled the coverlet to her shoulders. The pain that had briefly dulled came rushing back, searing her flesh until it felt as though she were being burned alive. Shifting restlessly and choking back every groan, she screwed her eyes shut against the torment.
Toward sundown, a round-bellied mage arrived to weave restorative spells over her.
Talia endured the stranger’s hands in silence. The mere thought of anyone touching her made her skin crawl, but she lacked the strength to fight him off.
“I shall burn an incense to dull the senses. It will take the edge off the pain.”
Having clearly heard of her refusal to take the draught, the mage set a small censer near the door and struck a flame.
Heavy, sweet-scented smoke filled the carriage in moments. Talia opened her mouth to tell him not to meddle, but the tight coil in her nerves began to give way, and her tense shoulders sagged.
The grinding ache deep within her bones faded to a dull thrum, and the edges of her mind went soft. The herbs in the burner carried a potent soporific.
She surrendered to the encroaching dark. Yet the respite was fleeting; before long, the throbbing flared awake once more, sharp enough to wrench her from sleep.
Waking with a muffled groan, Talia forced her heavy eyelids open. She would have to summon the mage and have him light another stick.
She was pressing one hand to her pounding temple and levering herself up with the other when her breath caught.
Talia stared into the pitch-black space, her pupils wide.
She did not know what had frightened her.
END